


Slow

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Bondage, Established Relationship, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 19:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“‘It’s been a long time since I tied you to the bed.’” Justin takes charge and Giriko lets him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow

The first hint that something is unusual is how long it takes Justin to come around the corner to the living room. Usually the priest will come straight down the hallway and round the corner to the living room or the kitchen to do whatever he is planning on doing in the evening before Giriko takes it upon himself to distract him from his set goal. But today the front door slams shut and there is a long pause before the sound of footsteps comes down the hallway.

The hesitation catches Giriko’s attention away from the show he’s idly watching, so he’s thinking about sitting up on the couch to watch the doorway when Justin comes into view and angles himself against the frame.

“Hey Giriko,” he says, like he usually bothers to greet Giriko when he comes in the door. The chainsaw takes in what he’s wearing, the white undershirt so thin he can see the lines of Justin’s chest through the fabric, the dark jeans clinging to him like they’ve been painted on, and sits up entirely, all thoughts regarding the show forgotten. “What are you doing?”

“What are  _you_  doing?” Giriko offers in response, and when the words grate dark in his throat Justin blinks deliberately slowly at him and tips his chin down.

“Well.” The blond comes forward, and Giriko’s eyes drop to the shift of his hips, fluid like a cat as he moves. He drops his usual robes over the back of the couch -- he must have been taking them off in the doorway -- and reaches for Giriko in the same movement, digging his fingers up into the chainsaw’s hair and against the back of his neck. “I’ve been thinking.” A leg comes over Giriko’s and Justin slides in so he’s straddling the older man, leaning in so his weight is pressed against Giriko’s chest. “It’s been a long time since I tied you to the bed.”

Over a month, to be precise. Giriko raises an eyebrow and brings his hands up behind his head instead of along Justin’s back where he wants them. The priest playing the instigator is unusual enough that it’s worth savoring, even with the associated loss of some action on his part. “Since I  _let_  you tie me to the bed. What of it?”

Justin’s eyes are dark over his parted lips; the expression is entirely obscene in his baby face, and Giriko can feel his cock jerk in response. Where he’s sitting Justin can feel it too, and he smiles, licks his lower lip so slow it has to be deliberate, and leans in until his breath is loud against Giriko’s ear.

“Let me.”

For a moment Giriko toys with the idea of refusing, just to see how far he can get Justin to go, but the priest in such a direct mood is so rare that he hates to waste the opportunity. He reaches out whip-quick to catch the back of Justin’s neck so the priest gasps in surprise and rocks forward, and  _damn_  that feels good against his hardening cock. He groans at the friction and Justin’s free hand is down between them, his fingers sliding down the front of Giriko’s jeans, when did he manage to get his hand there?

Then Justin leans back, pulls free of Giriko’s hold on his neck like it’s barely there, and before the chainsaw can open his mouth to protest he’s sliding sideways and away. The hand against Giriko’s pants pulls hard before he gets the hint and scrambles to his feet. Justin smirks at him and Giriko can feel his face twist into a scowl, but then the priest’s eyes drop to the front of Giriko’s jeans and the chainsaw can  _see_  the way his eyelids flicker, the way his body tenses with anticipation, and he’s willing to forgive a lot if the kid is going to look at his cock that way.

Justin leads him to the bedroom by the front of his jeans, and Giriko is willing to be led if not quite ecstatic about his own passivity. Still, that’s kind of the point, and when Justin glances back at him he’s chewing on his lower lip so Giriko barely makes it past the door to the bedroom before he’s stepping forward to grab Justin’s shoulder and close his own teeth on the abused skin. Justin whimpers and Giriko bites, and when the priest shoves him backward the chainsaw goes without fighting, laughing as he falls back onto the bed.

“Can’t I have a little fun?” he asks without sitting up.

Justin climbs back on top of him, resuming his straddling position, and Giriko bucks his hips up again just to see the priest’s calm disintegrate into pleasure for a moment. Justin recovers quickly, though, and leans in to wrap his fingers around Giriko’s wrists.

“Chains,” he orders.

Giriko hesitates, just to make sure Justin knows it’s  _his_  decision to capitulate and not a result of the command, and when he pulls the chains up he loops them around Justin’s wrists, tight enough to bruise for a moment, tight enough to remind the blond that  _Giriko_  could be in charge if he wanted.

Justin doesn’t even flinch. “Thank you.” He unwinds the metal from his hands with a motion Giriko can’t quite follow, and it’s elegant and graceful and irritatingly self-possessed. Still, his skin is showing the familiar patterns of Giriko’s chains, and there’s a hint of blood along one edge, and that’s enough gratification for Giriko to offer his hands for his self-made restraints.

They don’t do this enormously often, but Justin is fast to learn and slow to forget, and his movements are as efficient as his attacks in combat, quick and deliberate and focused. Giriko tips his head up to watch Justin’s hands as he secures the other end of the chains, then down, because the priest is carefully balanced and leaning far forward, and his undershirt is riding up over the line of his pants to expose a inch of pale skin over his stomach. Giriko jerks up, throwing off Justin’s precarious balance, and the blond has to throw out a hand and catch himself on the chainsaw’s chest. Giriko gets a glare out of that, a glare and a sigh, and when Justin goes back he cinches the chain tighter than he strictly needs to. Giriko hisses but doesn’t protest or loosen the chain -- it’s his own chain, he could add links if he wants, but the priest’s not the only one who likes to play rough sometimes, and half the fun of this is the shared illusion that Giriko is  _actually_  restrained by the ties at his hands.

And feet, of course. It’s harder to see what Justin is doing when he slides off the bed, and it’s a lot less fun when he’s not shifting directly on Giriko’s lap,  but it doesn’t take any longer to tie his feet than his hands, and then Justin is coming back around, peeling off his shirt with a total lack of self-consciousness.

Giriko stares since he can’t touch, watches the pull of muscle against Justin’s waist and over his shoulders as he twists the shirt up and over his head, and then the priest is going for his jeans without even pausing. Giriko lifts his head as far as he can to see, which isn’t far with his arms stretched over his head, and Justin  _almost_  convinces him that he doesn’t care if the chainsaw is watching or not. But there’s a pause, just a breath of hesitation as his thumbs slide past his waistband, and Giriko looks up at his eyes just as Justin’s blue gaze flickers to his face. The priest grins, flash-quick, and then he’s wiggling free of the jeans and Giriko looks down to the curve of his ass and the way his cock is standing hard from his body, and then  _he_  grins dark and slow.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks, partially a taunt and partially an observation. Justin drops the jeans and raises an eyebrow, supremely self-possessed even when he’s wearing nothing but creamy skin.

“Yes, I am,” he says steadily, but then he looks away from Giriko’s face, down to the spread of the chainsaw’s body across the bed, and he bites his lip again and his face flinches into appreciation for a minute, and Giriko laughs and rocks his hips up.

“Well come  _on_  then,” he drawls, his motions and tone making the preposition an innuendo. “What are you  _waiting_  for?”

Justin rolls his eyes but climbs onto the bed anyway, and he can protest all he wants as long as he comes  _closer_. He reaches for the front of Giriko’s pants, undoes the button one-handed, and slides the chainsaw’s cock free of the confining fabric. Giriko hisses at the contact but then it’s gone, Justin’s turning away, and he pushes up as far as he can get off the bed.

“Hey! What the fuck, where are you  _going_?”

Justin turns back, and his mouth is actually firm with frustration now. “I’m  _trying_  to get the lube, idiot.” He ducks down, and before Giriko has entirely processed the movement his mind goes bright and white with pleasure as Justin’s mouth closes around him.

He’s not quite done groaning when Justin pulls free, wipes his hand across his damp lips, and hisses, “ _Patience_ ,” before sliding off the bed again. Giriko subsides, lying flat on the bed and trying very hard to convince himself that the wait will be worth it.

His litany is almost immediately validated when Justin comes back, hands slippery and eyes dark again. The priest doesn’t even look at Giriko’s face, just stares at the chainsaw’s cock as he gets back onto the bed. His hand is cold in spite of his body heat, but the chill is counteracted by the friction of his fingers over Giriko’s erection, so the chainsaw doesn’t complain beyond a hiss that could be either a flinch or satisfaction. Justin glances up at the sound and smiles careful and slow. He brings one leg over Giriko to straddle the chainsaw’s hips again, and for one wild moment Giriko thinks he means to just  _go_  with no further preparation.

He’s almost disappointed when Justin shifts his weight forward and reaches around behind himself, the more so because he can’t  _see_  what the priest is doing. Then the blond’s mouth comes open, his eyes shut, and he  _groans_ , and Giriko immediately takes back every moment of almost-disappointment he felt. Justin’s not  _looking_  at him, with his eyes shut, but his face is unusually uncontrolled, and Giriko’s imagination goes wild with every half-voiced shiver and every tremble of Justin’s lower lip. He can tell when Justin moves his hand from the way he involuntarily comes up onto his knees, can tell when he slides a second finger inside himself from the way his face goes blank for a breath. Then Justin shifts his weight, tips sideways and back so Giriko’s cock brushes up against his ass, and reaches down to wrap his fingers around his own erection.

Giriko makes a sound without meaning to, a gasping laugh that sounds more than a little incredulous. “ _Fuck_ , Justin,” he manages, and the priest doesn’t open his eyes but he smiles and strokes his hand along himself with agonizing slowness.

“That’s the idea, eventually,” he says, and his voice is  _so_  calm in spite of the visible tremble in his body that Giriko  _knows_  how much it is costing him to maintain the illusion. He grins and rocks his hips up, hits Justin’s wrist and bumps the fingers the priest’s got inside himself, and Justin cries out and almost falls. He has to let go of his cock to catch himself on the bed, opens his eyes to meet Giriko’s gaze, and instead of chastising he laughs, leans down to breathe hot into Giriko’s ear. He doesn’t speak, just keeps his mouth whisper-close so Giriko can hear the catch in his breath, the barely-audible whimper as he slides his fingers free, and the deep inhale he takes as he reaches out to brace himself with a hand on either side of the chainsaw’s head.

There’s a moment of perfect stillness; Justin is holding his breath, frozen in place, and Giriko can’t take an inhale for the tension of anticipation. But the chainsaw’s never been very good at patience, and he snaps, “Stop  _fucking_  with me.”

At least he starts to snap. Justin laughs as he inhales to speak, a tiny splinter of amusement against his ear, and shifts his weight backward so Giriko’s cock hits his ass. The chainsaw’s words die in his throat, Justin wiggles slightly to line himself up, and then the priest is coming down to slide himself onto Giriko’s cock and the chainsaw can’t think at all.

Coherency vanishes for a moment under the burst of satisfaction in his head,  _friction_  where he wants it and  _heat_  where he wants it, and his hips come up entirely without his intention and Justin gasps and pulls forward, and that’s good too, the movement is  _good_ , and then there are hands on his chest and Justin is gasping, “ _Still_ , hold  _still_ ,” and Giriko is obeying without even knowing why. Justin’s eyes are shut again, his whole face tight in something between pleasure and pain -- of course, with him they’re nearly the same anyway -- but when the chainsaw goes still he starts sliding down again, slow and careful but not stopping until he bottoms out on Giriko’s hips.

Justin exhale, careful and shaky, and pushes himself up until he’s upright over Giriko. It’s not until then that he opens his eyes, looks down at the chainsaw, and smiles, the same predatory smile he gave him during their first meeting. It doesn’t make sense that he should look so in control when Giriko’s cock is inside him, but then he arches his back and lifts up an inch and Giriko doesn’t care about a whole lot other than the sensations flooding his body.

The angle is odd for Justin to effect vertical movement; there’s nothing he can brace himself on, so he has to rely on just his own strength to move, which means that he keeps twisting to get a better angle and his motion is fantastically and horribly irregular, a single fast thrust followed by one so slow Giriko is tempted to let the chains vanish and flip them over so he can just  _take_  what he wants. But then Justin tips his head back, arches his back so his neck and chest form one smooth curve, and Giriko can’t think straight and lets him go on fucking himself on the chainsaw’s cock.

Then Justin shifts one hand to Giriko’s stomach to brace his weight and brings his other hand to wrap around his own erection, and any sort of pretense of restraint vanishes. Justin exhales hard so it sounds like a groan, leans in against his supporting hand, and starts to jerk himself off in time with his movements over Giriko. His eyes are shut and his head is tipped forward so his yellow hair falls over his face, and Giriko can hear every gasping inhale, now, can feel the hand against his stomach starting to shake with tension. It takes a minute for him to catch the rhythm but then he has it, bucks up as much as he can when Justin comes down, and the priest rocks forward and makes a sound resonant with pleasure.

The pattern of Justin’s movements stays constant, even when Giriko’s responsive motions are stuttering out of time with the oncoming wave of climax. The chainsaw thinks at first it’s that Justin isn’t as close as he is yet, but then the priest sucks in a pained inhale and comes hard over his fingers, and even  _then_  he doesn’t lose his rhythm, even as his body jerks involuntarily and he moans something that sounds a lot like Giriko’s name. Giriko’s losing focus himself, only catches the edge of Justin’s satisfied exhale before the priest comes down again and pleasure bursts hot and bright into his head.

Justin is looking at him when he blinks back into awareness, and if Giriko were less entirely languid he would hit him for the self-satisfied smirk at the corner of his mouth. But “Happy?” is all the priest says, and Giriko can’t manage anything but a groan that answers better than any words would have done.


End file.
